The Normal Mutant
by Micromotor
Summary: In the world of Mutants, Professor Xavier's students fear discovery. For their different looks, their abilities, anything that makes them stand out. Watch as normal teen becomes a man, trying to find his place in life. With his own troubled past to handle, how will he handle the knowledge that not everyone is quite the same? And how will his decision impact the rest of the world?
1. Backlash

During the day, possibilities seem endless. The only limit one can come across are those they place on themselves. The lightbulb was invented specifically to forcibly shunt the darkness away from humanity, encouraging new ideas, new inventions, new reality-shattering impossibilities to be born. Truly, light is the way to go.

For Max Springer, light is a pain in the ass.

Oh, he understands the benefits of it, sure; driving is much more dangerous at night, people can lurk in corners and surprise you, you could get lost anywhere much, _much_ easier than in the day, and darkness always brings cold. People hate being cold.

On the other hand, light brings everything into crystal clear detail. He mentally shrugged it off, but it was only a brief respite. There are some details that he wished the light hadn't cursed him with.

Max shook his head clear of his darkening thoughts. Dr. McCoy's class was coming up, and it wouldn't do to let what was on his mind show. For all his skills in keeping a good poker face, the stockily built, blue-haired chemistry teacher was always able to tell if something was bothering one of his students. It was a stark contrast to the rest of the teachers, none of whom cared any more than was necessary. He genuinely cared about everyone in his classroom, and while it was nice, he didn't want anyone asking things he wasn't willing to answer.

At the front of the class, Dr. McCoy was going on about the differences between the elements of the periodic table between their groupings, slowly pacing back and forth in front of his desk. "Remember class, the difference between the alkaline metals and the earth alkaline metals is not only that they're split into two numerically different groups, it is also the number of valence electrons in their outer shell. Alkaline Metals have one, while Earth Alkaline Metals…" The chemistry teacher then proceeded to press his fingers on the bridge of his nose, letting out a small grunt of pain.

This was something that piqued Max's interest, despite his intentions not to. Every several days, Dr. McCoy would look like he'd start to get a migraine, and then just trudge on through the rest of the class. This had been happening for the past three months, and with the winter break soon approaching, Max started to think. He started to raise his hand, then caught himself before his arm fully extended. The Good Doctor (god, why did he have to say _that_ of all things?) had recovered, and started charging through the lesson again like nothing had happened.

Before he knew it, the final bell had rung, and Dr. McCoy grinned. "Everyone who gets an 'A' on your midterm will get a special treat at the end of the year!" The entire class, minus Max, hooped and hollered, and rushed out, ready to "get ready to cram" and "get another awesome surprise from the Good Doctor", with that last statement getting Max to grit his teeth. He wanted to whisk himself away from the building, but he had to pack up his notebooks first. He had priorities, after all.

As he walked out the classroom door, he heard a grunting sound. He turned around, and saw Dr. McCoy sitting at his desk, with his glasses off and his hands pressed against his temples. Despite knowing he was going most likely be late getting to work (and regret this act of generosity in about thirty minutes), he turned around.

The young man pulled a small plastic bag from his pocket and placed it on his teacher's desk. The crinkle of plastic was enough to grab his teacher's attention, and looked up at him, still clearly trying to ignore his headache.

Dr. McCoy squinted at the contents within the small bag. "What are those?" he asked.

Max took out a bottle of standard ache-relief pills, shaking it to show it was empty. "Over the counter pain killers," he replied with a shrug. "You look like your head is pounding and I just thought I'd, you know….," he made a small gesture with his hands, "help? I know that headaches can be a colossal train wreck on your day."

The teacher let out a chuckle. It was the first time anyone had actually tried to help him that didn't already know of his…. Problem. "Thank you, my boy, but I have grown accustomed to these over the past several years. I've tried many such medications, but none have worked." He smiled, "But I do appreciate the gesture, Max. I'm grateful for the gesture."

Max let his lips tilt upwards in his version of a smile. "What can I say? You're the only teacher here that actually seems to care about your students. I figured someone should show some appreciation, more than words alone, at least." Turning around to leave the classroom once again, he waved a hand. "Rest up, professor!"

OOOOO

As Max's footsteps blended into the rapidly receding sounds of shoes thundering their way home for the weekend's brief respite, Hank McCoy grabbed the pills, which were in the shape of the medicine Ibuprofen.

He knew that students weren't allowed to bring in any medication without a doctor's note, and Max had shown him his. The same also applied for physical limitations, which Max also provided for his excusal from gym activities. He looked fine, but he couldn't argue with the doctor's note. It surprised him that he'd be willing to share his medication, though. He knew that Max was one of the quieter kids in his class, not for a lack of group projects that encouraged cooperation. He was just somebody that never really talked more than necessary. In fact, he seemed to spend more time in his own mind than in class, yet still came up with astounding work on a regular basis.

There was something different about his quiet student, but the recent conversation gave a little insight into his character. Maybe Max would be one of the few who wouldn't judge his unique situation. After all, Hank had seen him often downing three of these red, round pills just before leaving his class every day. For him to give up that daily ritual because he thought his teacher had a simple headache…

Hank McCoy let out a genuine laugh for the first time in quite a few weeks. Max was quite unique, compared to his other students. Everyone knew he had recurring 'migraines', but he was the only one to actually offer any sort of assistance. Hank realized that he might be jumping to conclusions, but he desperately hoped that his friendly student would be someone that could be tolerant of his condition, should it get out of control.

The man began to focus. It was dark now, the best time to prepare his temporary salvation.

OOOOO

"Hey! You forgot the ketchup, idiot!"

"Sorry, sorry. Here you go, sir. Have a good night."

The beady-eyed and very overweight man snorted, and sped away in his Prius. The car swerved nearly out of control, and Max snorted. ' _If you could pump those legs like you pump that pedal, maybe you wouldn't practically flip your car with every turn.'_

The teen sighed, then locked the drive-thru window. There was always somebody who loved to come through right before closing, and _he_ always had the pleasure of servicing them. They didn't even read his name tag! Screw Burgertopia, he had money, dammit!

Another sigh, and Max corrected himself. He barely had anything to his name. A run-down, three room apartment most certainly did not scream 'Steve Jobs'. A nearly empty fridge didn't capture the eyes of the hungry like 'Cake Boss' did. And a desolate house didn't let out a 'welcome home' at his entry.

And because of his conscience, he didn't even have the Ibuprofen to last him through the shift. His shoulders were protesting every minute movement, and he still had to wait for his ninth hour to wrap up. That left him with nothing to do but spend the next half an hour being assaulted by his mental anguish, deciding that now would be the perfect time to pop up!

"No," Max grumbled. "I don't have anything to look forward to." Not anymore, at least.

The ring of the door opening took him out of his dazed state, and he looked up to see a man in a wheelchair rolling his way to the counter. He was bald, and had a brown jacket over his black shirt, likely long-sleeved at this time of year.

What really stood out to Max, however, was the confidence the man held as he strolled (ouch, bad choice of words, Max) up to the counter. It was as if he knew what was going on around him at all times. Oddly enough, he was looking at Max with… recognition?

"Pardon my late arrival, young man, but may I have a hamburger? One of my children recommended this place as 'the one fast food joint that doesn't taste like grease between two slices of bread.'"

Smirking at the common hype everyone at Bayville High held for here, Max nodded. "Of course, sir. Max Springer, at your service! One burger coming up!"

OOOOO

As Max proceeded to prepare the food, Charles Xavier let his frown show on his face. This Max was a troubled young man. While he seemed like the stereotypical teen (yet more polite than most), there was a darkness clouding his mind. It seemed to be in a tug of war in young Max's head, and for the most part, it was being pushed back fairly well, for somebody who was still in their teens. The Professor was impressed.

Xavier was taken out of his musings by the crinkle of a paper bag. He looked up, and saw that Max was looking at him with a vague hint of concern. Surprising, since it was almost one in the morning, and most people would get impatient with his distractedness, not worried.

"Here you go, sir. One burger with the whole package, just like you asked… Are you alright?"

The Professor formed a light grin, and nodded his head. "Yes, I am fine. Just wondering if my children wrapped up their homework yet."

Max chuckled. "Probably not. I mean what kind of high school kid _wants_ to do homework this early in the morning?"

Xavier let out a hum of amusement. "You have a fair point. Well, I should get going; my ride will likely come in to check on me if I don't come out soon. Have a pleasant night, Max."

"You too, sir." The Psychic Professor turned around, and proceeded to approach his car.

Ororo opened the passenger door, and helped Charles get inside, since they were in public. "So," the African woman asked, "what was it like, to go inside Burgertopia?"

The smell of an unusually salivating fast-food burger filled the car; He smiled. "I can see why people like the food here. It smells delicious. And if the people who work here are like Max, then it'll be easy to keep coming back."

Ororo looked inside the building, and saw the mentioned young man cleaning everything up, turning off the lights as each section was polished to his liking. For some reason, he looked…. Familiar… "Hmm... where have I seen him before?"

Charles gave his two cents. "Perhaps you recognize him from one of Jeans' soccer games?"

Ororo let out a noncommittal hum. "Maybe. Anyway, we should get going. Logan's going to get antsy, with us being gone for so long."

Xavier voiced his agreement. "I concur. We can think more about this later. For now, we should get going."

OOOOO

A key slid into the lock. It twisted, and the knob turned, swinging inward. The door opened, revealing a very tired Max. His jet black hair was flattened and greasy from wearing his Burgertopia hat for so long. His skin's natural pale tone was nearly a ghastly white. His eyes, which used to be a bright blue, had once more become a choppy, dark azure, barely holding back the building storm of emotions.

Forcibly shoving the maddening, treacherous thoughts, Max closed and locked his door, and walked to his room. He stopped, however, right in front of his bedroom. He turned to his left, and looked into the empty, untouched room. It was a complete mess, as if a hurricane had swept through and torn the room to a giant, messy pile.

Unbeknownst to him, tears finally broke through Max's defenses. "I'm home, Sarah."

He hated himself even more, once he realized he fell into that old habit again. He then sprinted to his room, and let the damn break, choked sobs breaking free once again.

There was no response to his words. Sarah's room was empty; just like it was every night for the last eleven and a half months.

Almost a year ago, she died because of _them_. They took everything from him.

And tonight, he wondered if they took away his will to live, as well.

OOOOO

 **And that's a wrap!** **I've been thinking about and X-Men: Evolution story for months now, but I had no idea how to write it.** **Honestly, this story, combined with college, is why I haven't been updating anything for the past several months.** **So much is on my plate right now, and I'm still figuring out how to organize it all.**

 **Then I stated to watch the show again, and I got hit with a few plot bunnies.** **What will Max bring to the table?** **How are his decisions going to impact Xavier's school of mutants? Find out in two weeks, friends and fans!**


	2. Opening The Gates

The sunlight crept through the blinds, piercing the veil of darkness enshrouding the room. As the light moved from one side of the room to the other, it reached a lump on the far side of the bed. Moaning and groaning, the very tired, very sore, and very annoyed Max opened his eyes.

Muttering a stream of curses that would make any sailor blush, the troubled teen rolled over to get away from the light.

He certainly escaped the wrath of the sun. Unfortunately, that also meant flopping onto the floor like a fish on dry land. The slew of swears elicited from that would put any angsty teenager to shame.

Dragging himself to his feet, Max shambled his way to the bathroom. When he looked in the mirror, he was gravely disturbed by the sight greeting him.

His hair was a bird's nest, with odds and ends sticking out every which way imaginable. His face was a shade of pale that he never even knew humans could reach. His eyes, however, were the most haunting; the iris's blue was so dull and pale they nearly passed for white.

Looking at his right wrist, he scowled at the newly formed scabs. He felt bursts of fury begin to cloud his judgment, but he managed to clear it in time to save his sanity. Taking a few deep breaths, he began to calm down, releasing the anger before he lost control.

 _Maxie, Save me!_

As if possessed by the spirit of vengeance, Max started throwing his fists at the glass.

Once, twice, thrice, and then the punches blended into a cacophony of crunches and broken glass and flying droplets of blood. He threw his knuckles against the mirror until he punched through to the wall.

Only the deep sound of pounding a wall cleared his mind of the red haze. Dropping his arms limply by his side, Max surveyed his efforts. The pristine condition of the glass was no more, merely splintered shards of reflective material. Half of the mirror wasn't even there; the other half was divided between the floor and his hands.

With the adrenaline wearing off, the bloodied teen brought his hands to his face. Every finger was caked in a blend of glass and blood, and trying to even twitch his fingers sent pain shooting up his arms.

As the trembling began to subside, Max retreated into his mind, and remembered the landslide that started it all. As he focused his mind, he remembered that there were more people than him and his sister trapped in the falling debris. A few other families were taking hikes as well. Unlike himself, however, there was nobody strong enough afterwards to protect their families from the fallout.

Nobody…. Nobody…

Max's eyes widened. He wasn't the only one to have suffered loss that day. Everyone else probably had families waiting for them back at home, and after Sarah died in his arms, he thought that he heard some faint rumbling nearby, but dismissed it as the sound of a few more falling rocks.

Realization dawning on his face, Max collapsed to his knees in horror. He could have done something to help _somebody_ survive. Instead, he spent hours upon hours staring into the open space, numb to everything but the cooling body of his sister. He not only let one person die that day, he threw away the lives of a dozen other people due to his self-pity.

Gathering himself, Max used his newfound knowledge to form a new, personal Constitution. If somebody needed help (for the right reasons, of course), he would do it.

And damn the consequences that would follow, both the good and the bad.

OOOOO

Max had spent the rest of the weekend before finals formulating a plan that would make him capable of protecting as many people as possible. He would need to do a _lot_ of preparation before he could even begin to think about protecting himself, so he sat down to make a list.

First, he would need to break out of his scrawny musculature. He may be able to survive with such a thin frame, but he wouldn't even be able to wrestle a kid half his size to the ground if he didn't bulk up at least a little bit. He remembered that Sarah had started going to karate lessons so she could be 'like that Jackie-chan guy'. Maybe he should start going there as well.

Insofar as food was concerned, he would need to start buying healthy food. Unfortunately, better food would cost more, and his expertise in the kitchen only extended to about frozen vegetables and microwaveable pizza. There had to be a 'Noob Cooking Guide 101' or something for culinary delinquents like himself.

As for earning extra money, there was actually an opening he could take right now. His manager from Burgertopia, Carmen, was about to move to Texas to live with her family. Best wishes to her, but that meant there was a power vacuum, one that he could fill.

Max really couldn't believe it. One detail from a memory almost a year ago was causing all of this. Just maybe, there was a way to atone for his mistakes. It would be long, it would be hard, but this journey was a necessary one. No shortcuts will be taken; no stone will be left unturned.

For Sarah's sake, this journey will be completed. Somehow, he would make sure her generosity would live on through him.

OOOO

Hank was feeling unusually well, considering how bad his condition was on Friday. The mindlessness he associated with the beast was somehow calmer than usual over the weekend. It had been years since he had that much control over his thoughts and actions. Quite frankly, he didn't know what had changed over the weekend.

Thinking back to last week, he tried recalling anything out of the ordinary. Monday was the same as always, half empty from the chronic procrastinators. Tuesday and Wednesday were the same, lectures upon lectures that sent nearly everyone to sleep, again. He really needed to find a way to keep everyone's attention on him, instead of the desks.

Thursday was the first study session for the midterms, and Friday….

That's it! He remembered; Friday was the day his student Max gave him his medicine he always saw him using right before class ended. Somehow, the trio of little red pills had managed to curb his agitation to prepare his temporary antidote. It was the first time anyone had tried helping him that wasn't in the 'know'. He was, quite frankly, touched by his concern.

Now, the last period of the day was about to begin, and Hank needed to prepare for his junior-level AP class. It was also the class that his generous student was in, so he would try to make it as interesting as possible. It was the least he could do to return for his kindness.

OOOOO

Max walked into Dr. McCoy's classroom before anyone else, even surprising himself. He knew that it would take a while for him to actually stick to his new plan, but for something to change this early on was surely a good omen.

He locked eyes with the chemistry teacher, and he was relieved that he managed to push through another round of his chronic migraines. What confused him, however, was why he was narrowing his eyes at him, looking down—

Right at his bloodied fingers. Damn, and he was hoping that he wouldn't notice it.

Dr. McCoy spoke, "Max, what happened to you?"

"I fell down?" Max said, with a nervous expression set in his face.

McCoy hummed. "I'm sure. After class, I'd like to talk more about your… fall."

Max cursed his lack of attention. It seemed like every other teacher had either not noticed his injuries, or had ignored them. They probably took the 'boys will be boys' mantra to heart. Of course he wouldn't be able to get away with it around the one teacher who actually gives a damn.

"Yes, sir." This was going to be a very awkward conversation. Not only that, but he was going to be late for work, too. That certainly won't help his case for that promotion…

OOOOO

Class was livelier than the others, as usual, but there was an air of tension in the room. Even the other students had felt it. While they were able to get some of their review work done, they weren't able to really sink it in.

Dr. McCoy himself seemed a little on edge too. Max knew that he was the cause, but the rest of the class simply thought that he was starting another episode of killer headaches. They didn't want him to have to leave before midterms were over. A substitute would be _so_ boring!

Mercifully, the final bell rang, and the students left in a hurry; in under a minute, it was just McCoy and Max.

"Did you get into a fight?" The square-jawed professor certainly didn't beat around the bush.

"No," Max flatly replied. "I had an issue come up over the weekend, and instead of taking it out on another person, I took it out on my mirror."

Dr. McCoy's face too on a quizzical look. "What could have gotten you so frustrated that you bashed both of your hands entirely in blood?"

Max was about to divert the question entirely, when an idea hit him. Maybe he should let one person know why he was about to go down this new, unexplored path. Admittedly, the idea of going… there… wasn't all that appealing, but it had to be done.

Someone needed to know at least some of the truth. No matter how painful it might be.

"Well, I can show you, if you'd like. It's a bit of a walk to the cemetery, but I know the way." At that, McCoy tensed. He was likely regretting his last words, but he could see there was no way Max was going to let this go. He had his face set into determined lines, ironically similar the ones on _his_ face when he told Xavier he could handle his mutation on his own.

Sighing in defeat, he conceded. "Very well. We will go to the cemetery."

Max nodded, and they set out to the land of the dead, where answers were awaiting both teacher and student.

OOOOO

It took the two of them a half an hour to reach the grounds. Once they arrived, Max took the lead, guiding McCoy to the grave in question. Hank saw that as they got closer to the intended destination, Max grew more tense. His jaw clenched, and his hands were balled so tightly that his fingers were bleeding again. His breathing was deeper, as if willing himself to remain calm.

Of course, Max didn't realize he was doing those things. He was struggling to not break down, especially when they hadn't even reached Sarah's final place of rest.

Eventually, they reached Max's destination, and Hank's heart ached for the boy. The tombstone in front of them read:

 _Sarah Springer_

 _March 7, 1990—December 24, 1999_

 _Her smile brought out the best in everyone she met_

 _And without it, the world will shed tears for the absence of its truest angel._

With tears unknowingly sliding down his cheeks, Max spoke. "We had lost our parents four years ago, from a pretty nasty divorce. Neither of them wanted to keep us, so we needed to find another adult who actually gave a damn. We were going to become separated, since she was six and I was eleven, and nobody was willing to take both of us. I begged one of my uncles to agree to take care of Sarah and I, just until I got old enough to legally take care of myself.

"Funnily enough, things actually worked out that way. For two years, Uncle Rodney 'put up' with the two of us, telling us to fix anything and everything that wasn't to his liking. Clearing out the gutters in the middle of winter, using bleach spray on the wasps' nest outside his mailbox, and generally just doing any little thing he was too lazy to do.

"I was seething from being treated like servants, but Sarah took it all in stride." Max allowed a smile to flash across his face. "She loved to cook and clean, going on and on about how she was becoming a 'big girl'.

"Then one day, the bastard just vanished. No rhyme, no reason, not even a note to say 'screw you, I'm out!' At that point, I was fourteen, old enough to become an Emancipated Minor. I got a car, a job at Burgertopia, and I could finally give Sarah a whole bedroom to herself!"

Hank put a hand on Max's shoulder, and the boy turned. "That's enough, my boy. I can understand why you've been so closed off from everybody. You can stop."

Smiling at McCoy's kind words, Max gently pried off his hand. "Thank you, but I really need to finish. I need to get this off of my chest."

Nodding in understanding, Hank let him finish. "Another two years go by, and things fall into a pattern. We went to school, I took her home, I went to work, and came home to a warm dinner and a smiling sister. No nine-year-old should be awake at midnight, but she did it anyway.

"When I would tuck her in after I finished eating, Sarah would always call me the 'Good Doctor' because I always made her feel happy and safe, especially when it was the two of us.

"Around this time last year, Sarah wanted to go camping. She wanted to make a 'Frosty Snowman' at the top of the smallest mountain, and I couldn't refuse." Max let out a wry grin. "I really, really should have said no, just that one time.

"When we were halfway up the trail, Sarah wanted to make a practice snowman, so we stopped for the night. While she was putting snow together, I heard voices shouting at each other.

"When I looked in the direction of the voices, I saw two people fighting. One guy got socked in the jaw, and he screamed. The whole mountain started vibrating along with his voice, and I was ready to run down the path as fast as possible, when it stopped. I was relieved, until I saw one of the two men raising his hands.

"The shaking was worse than before. I nearly fell down running to Sarah, and we started to run down to the entrance to the trail, along with a few other families. Before we even made it down to the main path, however, we were swarmed by dirt and rocks on all sides." Max shivered, remembering how close he came to getting crushed to death from the avalanche of earth. It was as if the land had a mind of its own, and was attempting to smother everyone caught in the way.

"When I came to, I was lying on my back, luckily on top of the ground. I heard someone cry out, and I will never forget my sisters' horrible condition.

"Sarah was a bloody mess. Rocks had somehow punched through her rib cage, puncturing through her lungs. She was coughing up blood, and I rushed to hold her in my lap. She pleaded with me, saying…" Max started openly sobbing, the tide of sorrow breaking through what was left of his willpower. He fell to his knees, and Hank crouched down with him, tightening his grip on his Max's shoulder. "S-She said wanted me to save her, t-to make t-the p-pain go away. I-I held her in my arms, s-saying that I'd f-fix her up, a-and she'd be good as n-new…

"She died in my arms. I spent hours staring into her glassy eyes. I'm disappointed in my failure to nothing to try to save the _one_ person I loved! There's NOTHING left for me to love!"

At that point, Max let go; his hands were gripping Sarah's tombstone, as if he was trying to force her back to life. After a moment, he completely shut down; his crying was the only sound in the graveyard, and Hank's eyes were glistening as well.

The kindly professor wrapped his fragile student, and Max felt a little of his burden being chipped off his shoulders. It would take more than one conversation to fix things, he knew. Years, probably. Maybe even decades.

But for now, this was enough. The first step in the right direction.

OOOOO

 **Hello, friends and fans! I know you weren't expecting to see another chapter for this story so soon, but I thought I would surprise you with my brain's plot bunnies.** **For those of you asking, this is going to be my primary focus until this story is done.** **I'm not going to delete my stories, but don't expect a lot of updates in a short amount of time.**

 **Now, I would really appreciate any and all feedback you have for me.** **I'm rusty in my X-Men: Evolution information, and anything that you want to tell me will be** ** _very_** **appreciated!** **Have a great night, everyone!**


	3. A Pre-Planned Vacation

Since that day in the cemetery, Max's life was becoming easier. He and Dr. McCoy would come to school early, and spent those morning in McCoy's room, just sitting in an increasingly companionable silence.

For Max, it was a relief to know that someone knew about his past and didn't smother him with pity. Dr. McCoy—Hank, he reminded himself (the teacher had insisted on being called that in private)—was only person to see him cry since Sarah died. There was a lingering wariness he held towards his teacher, overly-suspicious that he was going to be abandoned because of his past, but the blue-haired professor continued to prove his paranoia wrong. Hank wasn't aware of it, of course, but he held a great deal of his trust by treating him as an adult more than a student.

For Hank, it was the first time someone had completely opened up to him. Even Charles Xavier, the one man that could help him deal with his mutation, was probably keeping secrets from him. He understood why he did that, of course, but it was nice be trusted, to hear someone's full story. As much as he wanted to help the poor boy, however, he realized that the only way to truly help him was give Max the space he needed; treating him differently would likely only push him away.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to share little tidbits of each other's lives. He told Max about how teaching has always been a passion of his, ever since he started going to school. Becoming someone that can responsibly guide hundreds of people into their adulthood is the best way he can help others and feel accomplished at the same time. Max respected his passion, but was still somewhat mystified how teaching teenagers was even tolerable, much less enjoyable.

The school year was coming to a close, and Max was feeling more at ease with himself than he thought was possible. For the first time in years, he had a friend. A friend who was at least fifteen years older than him, but a friend nonetheless. Somebody that he could let inside his walls and not worry about being rejected. He still had nightmares most nights, but now he actually had someone to talk about them with. It was… nice, he decided.

OOOOO

Somehow, everything else has been looking up for Max as well. Carmen had moved to Texas, and Max was able to get promoted. Granted, it was for the position of head cook instead of head manager, but he took what he could get. Fourteen dollars an hour times seven hours a day, six days a week gave Max five-hundred and eighty-eight dollars a week. It was miles ahead of his previous status of an entry-level cook.

Thanking whatever higher power was up there for his spotless attendance and his perfectionism, he used his new level of income to finally stock up his fridge. Apples, bananas, broccoli, carrots, peppers, corn, potatoes, and all kinds of other fruits and vegetables soon filled his refrigerator, and chicken and beef and pork chops and steak was stuffing his freezer. He would need all the healthy eating he could get; eating well means getting in shape is easier, after all.

 _'_ _Speak of the devil'_ , Max thought. In front of him was a small, red-bricked building, a little on the outskirts of Bayville. It looked tidy, and there was even a sign outside the door depicting a stickman kicking through a steel wall, screaming _'_ _I got the power!'_ , with a line underneath showing the one-hundred-dollar monthly membership fee. Smirking, the pale teen walked through the door.

OOOOO

It was nearing midnight, but Max still had some energy to burn, so he went looking for the Karate school his sister had wanted to go to.

The biggest surprise about fighting dojos, Max realized, was how varied the fighting styles were. There was a mixture of Karate, Tai-Kwan-Do, and even some Mixed-Martial-Arts spars. Karate held mostly the children and preteens, Tai-Kwan-Do was filled with people his own age, and the MMA hosted the fully built adults that all had at least sixty pounds on him. He just looked around, taking in the atmosphere of pain, sweat, and yelling, when a hand grasped his shoulder.

He tensed, but did nothing else to show his reaction. He heard a hearty chuckle behind him, although Max didn't know what was so funny.

"You know, when I do that to most people, they turn around and try to sock me in the face. You're a lot more patient than I thought you would be." Turning around, Max nearly dropped his jaw at the sight in front of him.

The man was about half a foot taller than him, with a face squarer than McCoy's. There was an old scar stretching from his chin to right below his right ear. His eyes were dark brown, yet held an air of merriment within. His hair was also brown, and was shaved to nearly nothing. He reminded Max of a former marine than an instructor.

"So," the ripped man started, "looks like you're interested in something you see. Anything in particular?"

Max shrugged. "Nothing in particular. I just want to be able to defend myself and those that deserve it."

Another hearty laugh. "So, a People's Champion, eh?" He pointed to the MMA area. That's over there, with the hardest of hardcore fighters. You sure you don't want to start off a little easier?"

Max shook his head. "If I want to make a difference when it counts, I need to hit the ground running. There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

The other man grinned, his teeth nearly glistening in the light of the room. "I like your spunk, kid. Name's Robert, but everyone calls me Rob."

Rob extended his hand, and the invitation was accepted. "I'm Max, and I'm ready for the worst!"

OOOOO

He most certainly was not ready for the worst.

The entirety of Max's first hour was spent on his back. He was sparring against one of the more experienced members, and he was getting his ass handed to him. If he tried to charge in right away, his own momentum would be used against him. Waiting him out didn't do any good, since his opponent was taller and had the longer reach, and could simply grapple him and send him tumbling into the ground. It was the worst opponent that he could have gone up against.

Damn that Robert. He did this on purpose, without a doubt.

And sure enough, he was holding his sides, trying and failing to hold back his laughter. Mixed in with the smacking of skin from the other matches, it was getting on his last nerves. Even his sparring partner was smirking!

Clamping down on his anger, Max realigned his focus on the match at hand. He knew he couldn't win the match (if the sound of his body slamming into the ground wasn't proof enough), but he just needed to land one solid hit. That would mean it wasn't a complete waste of time. As Robert signaled round twenty-five to start, he took in a deep breath, and waited. His opponent, clearly bored with the proceedings, called out to Robert. "Boss, can I be done after this? I need to spend some time getting some actual training in."

Tilting his head in thought, Robert mulled the question over. He wanted to see what the new kid could do, and he wasn't surprised to see him getting beaten so thoroughly. What _did_ surprise him, however, was how many times he got back up. Usually, most people would storm out after losing five rounds, complaining about the 'disrespect' they got and the 'unfairness' of the system. Nobody stayed until round twenty-five. Hell, nobody stayed there longer than ten minutes! This Max… He could be promising.

Agreeing with his choice, he voiced his decision. "Sure thing, Derek. However, there is a condition. If Max can last longer than three minutes, you have to spar with _me_ next."

The fact that Max could hear Derek let out an involuntary whine was downright terrifying. If he wasn't able to even touch one of Robert's students, then just how good was the teacher himself?

Before he could answer that question, Max heard a growl, and refocused just in time to see the foot that was pushing into his chest, sending him down to the floor for the twenty-fifth time today. Unlike all the times before, however, he wasn't given even a moment of respite, as he pulled in his legs and his hands to his face in a poor attempt to block the fists smashing into the sides of his skull. He could feel his consciousness fading, and wracked his failing mind for a solution. Several pain-filled seconds later, he came up with a solution.

Hank was going to kill him tomorrow.

Spending a few more seconds to calculate the tempo of punches, Max lifted his head and slammed it back to the ground again. Hard.

Popping echoed around the room, and even Robert had to wince. He certainly wasn't expecting Max to make a move like that. Hell, he thought that the kid would have passed out, and was about to call the match when he saw him raise his head. Derek just had his fingers broken by a total newbie, and wasn't likely to forget it anytime soon.

But Max wasn't finished yet. His hazy mind forgot that it was a spar, that he should've stopped as soon as he slammed his head on the ground. All that mattered was finally proving that he wasn't completely hopeless. Grabbing Derek's left arm as an anchor, he launched his free hand like a piston, his fist meeting his opponent's face twice before Derek had enough strength to yank his arm free. The taller fighter rolled to his feet, blood dripping down his nose and the start of a nasty bruise forming right under his right eye.

Max tried to get off the ground, but couldn't rise any further than a sitting position. He saw the rage in Derek's eyes (well, more like his 'eye' at this point. That was a _nasty_ bruise!), and knew he was in for it. Just as the only standing fighter moved to finish the fight, Robert clapped his hands, breaking through the buzz of the fight. *

"That's enough, you two," the scarred man said, narrowing his eyes. "Derek, get some ice for your face. That was a rookie mistake, rushing in so recklessly. Tomorrow, we will work on exercise eighteen until you can appreciate the art of strategy. Am I clear?"

Clenching his one good hand, he grudgingly nodded. He then turned around, muttering something about a 'lucky-ass punk'.

Sighing and shaking his head, Robert then turned to Max, and smiled. "Well, that was surprising! Nobody outside of the other MMA guys can even land a single hit on him, and I counted three times you made him pay. You're a diamond in the rough, and I'm proud to say that I'll be the one to train you…." He noticed that the kid in question was giving him a flat look. "Or maybe not? I know Derek can be kind of a jerk, but nobody else is like that, promise! We have a few sticks in the mud, but that's what you get in a swamp, right?"

It took Max a few more seconds than usual to process everything, but when he did, he let out a chuckle, which turned into a laugh, which turned into uncontrollable chortling that left Robert at a loss as to what he said that was so damn funny.

Eventually, he managed to turn his laughter into a series of sniggers. Maybe he was more tired than he thought. "Sorry, sorry, I'm just so tired and sore that everything pun related is comedy gold." Grunting with effort, Max slowly drew his body upright. "I'm here to stay," he declared. "After all, where else am I going to become a part of your 'swamp?'."

Another chuckle forced its way from the bloodied boy. Becoming serious once more, Max looked into Robert's eyes, his voice representing the epitome of confidence. "If I want to be strong enough to protect the people I care about, then I have no choice but to come back here."

Robert flashed a humorless grin. "Kid, I'm not going to paint a pretty picture for you. Once you start, you'll be on a pace face than you've ever been before. Everyone starts at a hundred and ten percent, and it only escalates. Are you sure you can handle it, Casper?"

Rolling his eyes at the ever so subtle skin joke, Max took out his wallet, pulled out three hundred dollars, and slapped it in Robert's hand. "That should be good for the summer. I'll be starting at a hundred and twenty percent, if that's alright with you?"

Roberts' eyes lit up in amusement once again, and that was how Max knew he did exactly the right thing. "You know, Casper, I think you and I are going to get along just fine. I have lessons starting at midnight, if you're interested."

Max smiled at his good fortune. Sure, sparring until one in the morning would be hard, but it would certainly build character. And muscle, he admitted. Enough to make sure that should the need to fight arise, he would be able to actually do something. He finally had a semi-permanent plan in place, and he would make the most of it while it lasted.

OOOOO

*This is my first attempt to do an actual fight scene. If there's anything you guys have in mind for me to improve on, let me know!

 **Hello again, friends and fans!** **I'm happy to get out this next chapter as early as I did.** **College is starting to pick up again, and updates might start slowing down a little.** **Moving on!**

 **I'm really enjoying writing out this story.** **I think having a main character that's an OC that** ** _isn't_** **a mutant is a fairly fresh idea, and I want to see how well I can pull it off. I'm open to suggestions of any kind (within reason :P).**

 **Victo557, thank you for being the first person to leave behind a comment for me.** **I'm glad you're liking Max as a character, and I hope that I can keep him and the rest of the story enjoyable for you!**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!**


	4. The Set-Up

**_I DON'T OWN ANYTHING BUT MY OC MAX!_**

It seemed that his plans of trying to help others out wasn't going to last very long, at this rate.

Once summer ended, Max felt ready to get straight to business, and to start helping people. If it was about homework, he could handle anything that was thrown at them (since his GPA _was_ a 3.7). If it was a problem with people at school, he could go into action or simply be a set of ears to listen to them. Even if it was something as simple as being lonely at lunch, he would sit by them to provide his company.

Nothing was working, unfortunately; nobody wanted to tell him, the _loner_ , anything (the fear of getting belittled and taunted was somehow his stigma, now), people actually moved _away_ from him whenever he approached them, and apparently he didn't look 'smart enough' to help with anything school related. Apparently, his attitude during his junior year gave everyone the signal to leave him alone.

Today seemed to be no different. There was a girl alone at one of the tables. Thinking that maybe he could change his luck, Max walked up to the table, sat down with a smile, and introduced himself.

Or he _would_ have, if it weren't for the girl's look of annoyance, standing up and moving away to some other corner of the lunchroom. Sighing, he resigned himself to eating alone… again. A month into school, and things were still like this. Maybe the football game tonight would be a chance to break the ice with somebody.

Or it could be like the last four weeks and everybody stays away from him. People sucked.

"Watch it, Shady Summers! Get out of my way before I make you sorry."

Speaking of people that sucked, cue Duncan Matthews, star quarterback of the football team, and a thorn in everybody's side since he came here. Honestly, his football skills and 'dreaminess' were the only things keeping him afloat in the social tower. Otherwise, he was a jerk. His victim of the day; Scott Summers.

Scott was a bit taller than him, with brown hair, tan jeans, and a blue polo shirt. Most notable, however, were his red sunglasses, which he never took off. It was a little unsettling, but hey, who was he to judge? He smashed his mirror to bits in a fit of rage, and couldn't start a conversation with anyone his age to save his life. Colored glasses weren't that out of place.

Duncan was getting ready to start throwing punches, alongside his posse, when a girl's voice could be heard. "Duncan, it's time to go to the library. Don't you remember promising me we'd have a study session today?"

Jean Grey. The 'Miss Popular' of Bayville High. Long, shimmering red hair, mesmerizing green eyes, and a figure that would have ninety-nine present of all guys drooling at the sight. Duncan was definitely one of them, and Scott as well, although he was better at hiding it than his blonde rival. The only reason he could tell was because of how his eyes seemed to gaze at her longingly. Jean and Scott were good friends, Max knew that, but nothing more, and he knew it was a sore spot to Scott. Hence the constant tension between him and Duncan.

Personally, Max was rooting for Scott. He was more dependable than Duncan, and generally nicer. He really had no idea why Jean didn't see the better option, but that wasn't any of his business.

What _was_ his business, however, was how the two looked like they were about to start an all-out brawl. If it wasn't for Jean, they would have gone at it like alpha males fighting for the alpha female.

Duncan looked over to Jean, and let a smirk form. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and sneered at Scott. "Catch ya later, Summers. Don't forget to write." With that, he left, his hand sliding down his girlfriend's back to the point of getting catcalls from the rest of his team. Scott's hands shook furiously, and his eyes were boring holes into Duncan's back. In fact, they seemed to be… glowing?

Max had to admit, Scott definitely knew how to restrain himself. He didn't think that he would be able to hold himself back like that if someone did that to a girl _he_ liked. Tipping the proverbial hat to the anguished Romeo, the pale teen left the cafeteria. His next class was across the school, and he needed to use every second to get there. He knew he wouldn't be able to tear his mind from the situation at lunch, but hey, what was the harm in trying?

OOOOO

Apparently, there was a lot of harm, if Max's most recent test grade was anything to go by; a fifty-four in his economics exam was telling of how distracted he was. Max couldn't get the strange glow coming from Scott's eyes out of his head. There was something decidedly off about that. Maybe he could have a chance to ask him about it later. For now, he had to get ready to go to work.

Then again… tonight was the final game before playoffs. No matter how annoying Duncan was as a person, he definitely knew how to dominate the football field. It would be interesting to see the team going above fifty points for the tenth time in a row, according to predictions everyone had for the score.

Honestly, business at Burgertopia had been getting slower as the football season went on, for the sole fact that everyone at the games devoured the food at the concession stands. In a month, after the sport season switched to soccer, there would be more people to cook for. As of now, there was barely a need for a skeleton crew to keep things running smoothly. He could probably call in this one time.

After all, all work and no play made for a very boring day, and Max was most definitely having a boring day.

OOOOO

The rabid screaming of the fans was something to get used to. Between hooping, wolf whistles, and the general yelling and cheering, it was a wonder that anyone had functioning ears. Everyone was so hyped that they didn't even move away from Max when he took his spot at the bottom of the stands. Even though nobody was talking to him, he could at least pretend to fit in with the rest of Bayville High.

Speaking of Bayville, Duncan just ran the ball for a touchdown, pushing the Hawks over the forty-point wall. The third quarter wasn't even over yet; Max could easily see a score going beyond sixty, maybe even seventy!

His excitement was cut short, however, as he noticed Duncan looking back into the stands, a smug look on his face. Following his gaze, Max saw a gray hand pulling a wallet from someone's back pocket. Narrowing his eyes, he started to move behind the stands. He had to get to whomever was back there before Duncan and his goons did.

OOOOO

Todd Tolanski was having another successful night of liberating the weight held in every wallet. The suckers wouldn't see it coming.

' _Hehe._ _Finders keepers, loser's weepers.'_ Todd thought with a gleeful smile adorning his face. He had almost eight hundred dollars from tonight alone, far and beyond what he needed to last him through next week. Once the playoffs started, he would be raking in thousands. _'_ _So much cash, so little time._ _Who's next?'_

A tap on his leg brought him out of his reverie, and he froze. He turned his head behind him in a robotic manner, looking akin to a deer caught in the headlights. In front of him (and below, from Todd's perspective) was a moderately build guy. He was fairly pale, with short, black hair and darker blue eyes, which were narrowed in annoyance. He was looking between him and the wad of twenties in his hand expectantly.

"I think you should put those back where they came from." The pale teen said with a steel filling his tone.

His 'suggestion' brooked no arguments from Todd, and he hurriedly nodded. "Y-yeah, yeah. I can do that, no problem." Slowly, he put all the cash he grabbed into the purses and wallets that they came from.

Before he could return the borrowed merchandise, he heard a 'hey, I got this under control!', and a hand latched onto his shoulder, yanking him down to the ground.

"Well, well. Lookie what we have here. Toadie Tolanski picking up a little spare change."

Crap. It was Duncan and two others, who were holding down the other guy, albeit with difficulty. For someone who wasn't an athlete, he sure could put up a fight. Todd, however, was _way_ to scrawny to put up a fight, and he started backing up. "Uh, h-hi Duncan. Look, I can explain— "

"Shut it, frog-boy!" Duncan grabbed the skinny teen by the front of his shirt and pinned him to the pillars, knocking the breath out of him. His eyes widened in fear, and he started shaking when someone yelled "smash him, Dunc!"

"Let's not, Dunc." A new voice said. Everyone, including Duncan, stopped and stared at the newcomer. "The money's still there, and he was just about to return it all. Let him finish up, and you can go back to proving your superiority to everyone in the game."

Todd, ever the pragmatist, was quick to agree. "Yeah, I like that plan— "

Bayville's star quarterback, however, was fed up with Scott's 'superior attitude.' "What's it to you, Summers? You like this idiot or something?"

Scott crossed his arms, frowning. "Not really, but I'm not a fan of three on two, especially when any one of you weigh more than the two people you're struggling with combined. Why don't we settle this peacefully?" Max smirked, until his assailants tightened their grip on him. It wasn't breaking anything yet, but it was definitely uncomfortable.

"I think me and my friends are going to crush the slime-ball and Casper over here, so you and your sunglasses-at-night can bail." Duncan tossed Todd to the ground, and was getting ready to plant a nasty kick in his face, when Scott grabbed him from behind.

"I said leave him alone!" Scott threw Duncan behind him, knocking the two that were holding Max down in the process. Getting up with a small grunt of effort, he helped Tolanski to his feet–who bolted as soon as he could, mind you-and made his way to Scott.

"Thanks for the save, Scott." Max said with a grin. He meant it, too; if he hadn't shown up, there was no way he would have been able to hold off the star quarterback and the two biggest linemen on the team.

Scott rose an eyebrow. "You're welcome, but how to you know my name?"

Max chuckled. "You're Jean Grey's friend, archenemy of the 'master passer'. I'd be surprised if someone _didn't_ know your name." Scott had to concede that point. His issue with Duncan was certainly public knowledge by now.

In a show of camaraderie and comedy, the pale teen bowed and extended his hand. "I'm Max, by the way. The quiet, avoid-at-all-times weirdo. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Despite the situation at hand, Scott had to admit this guy knew how to lighten the mood. That line of thought was short lived, however, as the three football players slowly got to their feet. Duncan looked beyond pissed, more like a raging bull than a person.

"You two, take Casper. Summer's is mine!" With that, the three-on-two match resumed, but things were decidedly more even this time around.

Scott and Duncan were always close to even. Scott was more calm and controlled, and could do combos relatively well; landing a left jab, followed by a right cross and knee to the stomach, was a testament to his skills. The freight train of a right hook he received in returned, however, was a testament to how much more power Duncan held.

Max, however, was having a little harder of a time. While the two dunderheads didn't have much besides their sizes, they were able to use it to separate Max from Scott. 'Casper' was cornered, and while he had some definite power to his hits, he could only focus on one at a time, leaving himself open to the other. Every hit he gave was returned with interest, courtesy of a meaty fist. After two minutes of this dance, Max was ready to change the tempo.

Fortunately, he got a chance to do just that. Unfortunately, the source of that chance was a feminine scream of "Scott, no!"

 _'_ _What's Jean-?'_ His train of thought was interrupted with a _whirr!_ , and a second later something exploded behind him. Something lodged itself into Max's back, and he felt multiple cracks. His pained scream outlasted the explosion, and when he finally quieted, his vision turned into a tunnel.

As darkness was overtaking him, he noticed someone huddled in a corner, with his head buried in his legs.

 _'_ _Scott'_ , Max thought. Summoning what remained of his rapidly diminishing strength, he inched his way to the terrified teen. Just before his hand reached the terrified teen, his weariness became too much, and his eyes were closing against his wishes.

 _'_ _Dammit!'_ the lonely teen anguished. _'_ _Come on, useless body! Not now!…not…...now….'_

OOOOO

 ***Gasp!* Is our protagonist gone already? How are Max's actions going to change things this early on in the epic tale?** **Well, you just gotta wait a few weeks ;)**

 **As for updates, in case any of you were wondering; School is picking up like crazy! There's maybe an hour a day for me to write, and I always spent forty minutes changing what I already have done, because this chapter will determine** ** _everything_** **that happens after.**

 **The first three chapters were easier because I had them plotted out already, but trying to integrate a new character in an established universe without changing existing characters drastically was a HUGE challenge!** **I'll probably have chapters posted every two weeks at the earliest, now, but I'm not giving up!**

 **Goodnight, friends and fans! Sweet dreams :D**


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